Swimming With The Sharks

Imagine an 18 foot shark lurking near the shore of the beach, in the very waters where you are swimming.  It’s enough to stir up powerful feelings of fear and dread, huh?  Well, I should know because that’s what happened to us, yesterday.  Really.  It’s true.

Well…okay…it’s true EXCEPT that the shark was more like one foot long rather than 18 feet.  But let’s not get hung up on minor details, alright?

We were at the beach in St. Petersburg, yesterday with our good friends, the Brunettes, enjoying the sun and the sand and the waves.  Well, actually we were only moderately enjoying the sand.  (The sand has an annoying tendency to get into everything.  In fact, I just titled my head a moment ago and some sand fell out of my ear….but that may have nothing to do with the beach.)  We saw a fisherman standing on the shore, pulling in a catch.  As the fish was reeled in from the water and became visible to us, I said, “Hey, that looks like a small shark!”

Quickly, a small group of people began to gather round the fisherman.  Convinced that it must be a shark that he had landed, I ran over to him, followed closely by Rachel.

Sure enough, it WAS a small Great White shark.

(I have no idea what kind of shark it really was, but I know people will ask, “What kind of shark?”  So, I’m calling it a “Great White” because it makes the story so much better.)

The fisherman was letting some people touch the shark and feel its skin because it has an interesting texture—sort of, like sandpaper.  So, Rachel and I both reached out and petted him.  I thought, “This is cool, I’m standing at the beach petting a shark that was swimming around in the same waters where I was just swimming!” 

(The whole episode would have been less cool if I would have encountered this little guy’s mommy in those waters.  But I’ve discovered that I’m extremely courageous about sharks when I’m standing on dry ground.  In fact, while I’m standing on dry ground, I’m inclined to say, “Come on, sharks!  Yeah, I’m talking to you.  [Shaking my fist.]  You don’t scare me you wusses!”)

The shark was opening and closing its mouth and I put my finger by its mouth to see if I could feel its teeth.  The fisherman said, “That’s probably not a good idea.”  *And as we both laughed, I noticed that he was missing several fingers.  Don’t you just hate the nerve of an experienced fisherman warning you not put your fingers in a live shark’s mouth?  Boy, talk about being a know-it-all killjoy, huh?

As the fisherman released the little guy back into the waters, I waded out, following him for a few moments **and that’s when I encountered his mommy.  We wrestled for a while and then I punched her in the snout and she swam away crying and whimpering.  “That’s right, you baby.” I yelled, bravely, kicking a spray of water in her direction. “Come back and I’ll give you more of the same!  I’m sick and tired of you bullies scaring everyone.”

By the way, I’m standing on dry ground as I write these words.

* NOTE:  He wasn’t really missing several fingers, but it just seemed like a funny thought, so I threw it in.

** ANOTHER NOTE:  Somewhere in this vicinity, a true story starts to become a fiction story.  My imagination (or is it “wishful thinking”) tends to get the best of me.  By the way, have I told you about the time I was running with the bulls in Pamplona…..?

The fisherman using needlenose pliers to remove

the hook.  I offered to take it out with my fingers,

the consensus?  "That's not a good idea."